


Won't Let Go

by gendryxaryatrash



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 08:27:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17019213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gendryxaryatrash/pseuds/gendryxaryatrash
Summary: Mini drabble based on "Just Say You Won't Let Go" song by James Arthur (not a lyric fic tho or anything). In canon universe, could be book or show, post-reunion. Mostly fluff, it's fine.





	Won't Let Go

Gendry stumbled through the dark godswood, his bleary eyes searching for the figure they were used to constantly looking for these past five years, though they’d finally landed on her a few moons past when he’d entered the gates of Winterfell for the first time just behind Jon Snow.

R’hllor, he was drunk. He hadn’t meant to drink quite so much, but he’d only matched her cup for cup. It had been both a challenge and a celebration. And there hadn’t been cause to celebrate much for so long... The war was far from over but with the dragons, they’d won a battle that would have otherwise been lost. 

“Bet you can’t keep pace.” Arya had dared him, a glint in her eyes that showed she was still harboring the slightest bit of resentment for him leaving her.

And he hadn’t known if she’d meant the drinking or dancing, but he’d met her step for step and cup for cup, so she couldn’t say he couldn’t. And that’s what had led him to this point. Stumbling through an unfamiliar courtyard in the dark, wishing he could find her, wishing he could tell her what he was feeling, wishing he could make her understand, wishing he could let her into his mind to see what he saw and feel what he felt. 

He didn’t regret a moment of the night though. The feeling of her hands in his during each dance. The unbidden smile that came to her lips each time he stumbled or that she stepped on his feet.

“Arya’s never going to dance,” Gendry had overheard Jon say in response to Tormund with amusement and a twinkle in his eye he watched his sister at dinner.

From the moment Arya had first grasped his hand firmly in hers, Gendry had avoided Jon’s eyes. But he’d seen the king’s gaze darken over the course of the night as his little sister outdrank and outdanced all of his men. But the dark look wasn’t for Arya; it was for Gendry. Jon still didn’t know the extent of Gendry’s familiarity with his sister. Gendry had a feeling it was only beginning to dawn on Jon. And if he hadn’t been out here at this late hour as the celebration still dragged on in the Great Hall looking for Arya, he might have left anyway to find a spot to hide. 

Gendry froze suddenly. He’d heard a voice. Over the high wall to his left. He’d know just the tone of that voice anywhere. Only he couldn’t hear what she was saying or who she might be talking to. That way was the godswood, he knew, though he’d never made a habit of being in there since he felt watched by the trees each time he stepped foot in there. But, now, in there was the only entity he truly worshipped and not a whole forest of ancient watching eyes was going to stop him from getting to her. She’d have to do that herself. If she wanted.

Gendry stumbled back the way he’d come until he found the entrance to the woods. There was no moon this night, so Gendry walked blindly, reaching out ahead with his arms so he didn’t run into trees. A cold shiver ran down his spine as he delved further into the godswood. He could almost hear the trees speaking to him, and eerily wondered if Arya was conversing with them.

He fumbled in the dark toward the direction he thought he’d heard her voice until a candlelight in the distance lit his way. Although he was bleary-eyed, he finally found her kneeling before the largest tree of them all, its red leaves long fallen and rotted on the floor next to the frozen pond. But the eyes and mouth of the tree seemed to be even more enunciated by the dark.

Arya wasn’t talking anymore. But she was crying.

“Arry,” Gendry’s voice choked on the two syllables as he struggled on his uneven legs towards her, wanting to protect her from whatever it was she was suffering.

She didn’t move. Didn’t even glance back. Which meant she’d known all along he was there. Gendry fell to his knees on the cold, hard ground behind Arya and wrapped his large arms around her from behind. He’d been worried she would push him away, or worse, become frozen in his arms.

Instead, she surprised him by gasping his name and turning her face towards him. Their movements jostled the candlestick which fell to the floor and sizzled out with a hiss. Gendry didn’t care. He held Arya as hard as he could without hurting her instead and let her cry into his chest. 

He wasn’t a complete stranger to her crying. But this was a different sort altogether. Released from any inhibitions by the alcohol she’d consumed, she held back not a bit, and her sobs tore through her and into him as he tried to hold them both together.

He stroked her back and her hair soothingly, murmuring comforting words into her ear. 

Finally, hiccupping, she looked up into his eyes unevenly. She was drunker than him. “I miss him.” That was all she said before curling back into his chest.

Gendry eyed the large weirwood and knew somehow without being told that it was Eddard Stark she spoke of. In his mind, Gendry heard the man’s voice the same as he’d heard it the one and only time he’d met him. 

_Look at me, Gendry_ , he’d said, as if he’d already known him somehow. Now, Gendry looked only at Lord Stark’s daughter.  


Suddenly, Arya turned away from him, away from the weirwood and began to empty her insides. She held one hand at his chest as if to keep him away, to keep him from seeing her like that. But he didn’t care; he gently set her arm aside and leaned over her, carefully gathering her hair, grown long again, up together in one hand while rubbing her back soothingly with the other. 

“It’s alright,” he whispered as comfortingly and as softly as he could. “You’re alright,” he promised. 

The hand she’d been using to push him away was curled up now in his own, and he brought her knuckles to his lips. 

“Everything’s going to be alright,” he whispered against her cold skin, hoping to warm her some, his other hand still rubbing her back.

Arya squeezed his hand with hers as she finished retching. Then she turned over her shoulder and smiled up at him in a way that was so achingly lovely that Gendry forgot to breathe. It wasn’t that he ever forgot how beautiful she actually was; he was just so used to her again that it wasn’t something he had to think about. It was just a given. 

This time, though, Gendry was taken aback by it. His head, which before had been swimming in a drunken haze, was clearer than it had been for the longest time. As if he hadn’t had a drink at all. One look from her sobered him up faster than a face-full of freezing cold water ever could.

In fact, it felt like nothing had ever been clearer. He saw how it had to be. They had to be together; he could never leave her side again.

Ignoring her protests and insistence that she smelled, Gendry gathered Arya tightly in his arms and to his chest. His hand held her head against him and he pressed his lips softly to her forehead. Arya stopped protesting immediately and melted into him instead.

“Stay with me.” She said. It was more a command than a request, but not one he could have resisted either way, though he had before if only to protect her. Now, he saw, there was no other path for them. 

“I will.” He kissed her again on the forehead in affirmation, leaving the word ‘forever’ unsaid though still meant.

Soon he would gather her up to his side and lead her back to her warm chambers. And he would stay just as he’d promised. But, for now, he’d hold her in his arms and wouldn’t let go.


End file.
